


Dungeons and Dovahkiin: A tale of Skyrim

by FrickinAngel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Awkward Romance, Battle, Declarations Of Love, Dungeon, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, Romance, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrickinAngel/pseuds/FrickinAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Onmund worries that he will never be able to tell the Dovahkiin of his love for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dungeons and Dovahkiin: A tale of Skyrim

# Onmund’s Request: A tale of Skyrim

#    
Onmund watches the flames licking slowly at the logs in the fire pit. Sometimes he wonders why he does it. Why he keeps following her, when he doesn't even know what he's getting out of this arrangement. She'd told him to call her Kindred once, which he does, but he likes to think of her as the Dragonborn. After all, that's mostly who she is now. When he watches her nock an arrow and draw the string back on her ebony bow to kill a roaring frost troll with one shot, it's clear to him that she is truly the Dragonborn, a legendary warrior mage. He thinks about how it all started: as students at the College of Winterhold.

#    
He would do anything for her. Anything. He could've stayed on at Winterhold, become a competent Mage or an alchemist, set up shop in some sweet little town like Whiterun or Solitude. He could've settled down with a nice Nord girl who would cook meals for him, have a couple of children, live an unremarkable, totally forgettable (and don't forget safe) life.

#    
But no... She came to the college and awed them all, saved the college from that power-crazed Elf, Ancano, wrangled the very Eye of Magnus, by the Nine. And the way she learned spells, it appeared as easy as breathing or walking. It seemed that she was everywhere at once, helping out, distinguishing herself, becoming the first Dragonborn in over 100 years.  
Why,before the Archmage was killed, Onmund had heard him talking to Professor Tolfdir about her. Said he wouldn't be surprised if she was made Archmage herself one day. And of course she had been.

#    
Onmund had wanted to hate her for doing everything so effortlessly, so perfectly. For being the savior Winterhold (hell, all of Skyrim!) needed when he still had trouble with a simple paralysis spell. (He really excelled at Destruction spells.) He'd wanted to pretend he didn't care, didn't even see her, that he wasn't like everyone else, swayed by all the heroic deeds she'd done.

#    
But then she'd stopped him in one of the drafty corridors of the Hall of Attainment, one hand lightly on his bicep. "What troubles you, my friend?" her brow furrowed with concern, her green eyes sympathetic, kind. How had she known?  
He'd just stood there like an idiot, remembering too well the way his father's face had darkened when he told him he wouldn't be working as a blacksmith with his father and older brother, Olaf. That he would make his way in the world as a mage instead, go to the college of Winterhold. "You know I don't hold quarter with those magical fools up in Winterhold, Onmund!" Father had thundered, his big, scarred hands tightly fisted. "Always with their heads in the clouds. No son of mine will practice magic!"

#    
And true to form, he hadn't spoken to Onmund again, even when he was leaving to walk to the college. Thankfully, Mother had met him at the cottage gate to see him off. She'd pulled him close in a hug, pressed something cold and round into his palm and whispered, "See if this doesn't help you in your studies, my dear. Your father loves you, but he's a stubborn old fool. You know how he feels: Nords don't trust magic, or those that use it. If it can’t be swung over your head or used to crack skulls, he wants nothing to do with it. But, he'll come around before too long. Be well and safe journeys to you, my son. I'm proud of you for following your heart"

#    
He had felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes then, but a true Nord doesn't cry, and so he didn't. He hugged her goodbye and looked at the gift his mother had given him when he went around the next curve in the path: an ancient golden Magica amulet that would indeed help him in the craft of spell-casting. He had no idea where his mother had gotten it; had it been in his family for generations? Or had she spent hard-earned Septims to buy it surreptitiously from the village mage? He would probably never know. . .

#    
He broke down then. He couldn't help himself. Just cried beneath an old pine tree in the middle of the path, face in his hands. It showed his mother's deep and abiding love for him, and living in Skyrim, when you left someone behind, you never knew if you would see them again when next you passed through town. He worried about the many stories of dragon attacks they had heard of lately. Life could be short and brutal in Skyrim.

#    
All of these memories flickered like flames through his mind as he stood before the Dragonborn. He took a deep breath and blew it out hard, looking at his feet for a long moment, wondering if he should even tell her, finally deciding it was right. He would trust her.

#    
"I traded something to Master Enthir," he found himself blurting out. "Something I thought didn't mean anything to me. And then I realized it was... the only reminder of my family." He remembered how his shoulders had sagged with the relief of it, of finally unburdening himself of the truth. He had bartered away a beautiful and valuable amulet for a spellbook that he hadn’t even mastered yet. How stupid, how careless.

#    
Kindred's eyes had softened at that. "Why don't you just ask him to trade it back? I'm sure he--"  
Onmund had shaken his head despairingly. "No... He's cruel. He told me his trades are for good, that it's his now."  
"Let me talk to him for you," Kindred said, staring into his eyes in that unwavering way she had. When she focused the beam of her energy on you, you felt that you were the only one in the world for a moment.  
"You would do that? For me?" Onmund had gasped.

#    
But she'd been gone in a blur already, off to Master Enthir and back in the space of fifteen minutes, Onmund's treasure held carelessly in one small, pale hand, a wry grin brightening her face like sunlight. Their hands touched as she tipped it into his palm, and he felt a flush warm his cheeks.

#    
"Thank you, Dragonborn," he'd said reverently, staring down at his recovered amulet. He looked back up at her. "How did you..." He began, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand and the ghost of a smile.  
"It was nothing! Forget about it!" She looked down at her small feet, her eyelashes dark and long against her cheeks. "And you could call me Kindred," she murmured, almost embarrassed.

#    
"If you ever need help with anything. . . Kindred, please ask me," he urged her. He knew it was all he could offer.  
She looked back up, a shy smile in her eyes. "Would you follow me then, Onmund?"  
His heart had melted at her words and he hadn't looked back. Not until now.

#    
He thought about all the places they had been: dwarven ruins, dragon fights, dens of thieves and vicious, sneaky Falmer. More times than he cared to admit, he had thought, "This is the end for you, Onmund. Today is the day you go to Sovngarde!" during some heart-pounding battle.

#    
And then somehow they would make it out the other end alive, and it would be exhilarating, thrilling. To have fought beside the Dragonborn. And lived. They would be drunk on the adrenaline rush, falling into each other's arms consumed with hysterical, relieved laughter as they ran out of the latest dungeon or cave, safe again for the moment.

#    
Maybe it was the adrenaline itself, the constant near-death experiences that caused him to fall for her, to trust her blindly with every part of his life. He would watch her trotting always a little ahead of him, blithely unworried about what dangers might lie ahead, about the next horror some Jarl or citizen would beg her to help with. Giant frost spiders infesting mines, vampires conspiring to kill an entire town of innocents, nothing phased Kindred. She took it all on and then moved on to the next thing as if she was untouchable.

#    
He would never forget the dungeon of Juergen Windcaller: it had been shortly after he'd begun following her, and they'd barely scraped through alive. They snuck through the entire dungeon, hearing the creaking and groaning of ancient stones grinding against each other, the plink of water droplets off old walls, and worst: the bone-chilling sound of Draugrs, tramping about in their endless vigil to protect the dungeon from people just like he and Kindred.

#    
At one point, they'd been surrounded by snarling Draugr, the foul smell of their long-dead bodies cloying in his nostrils, his heart clamoring to get out of his chest in fear, as he and Kindred crouched, back to back, avoiding the Draugr blades and axes as best they could, hacking and slashing away with their swords until every last one of the wretches lay dead at their feet.

#    
It wasn't until the end of that battle that he'd realized he'd been stabbed many times with daggers and he collapsed to the cold, stone floor in agony, sure that he would soon see the beautiful halls of Sovngarde.  
“Oh, Onmund!” Kindred had cried, putting her hands on his chest and looking beyond terror. “I’m so sorry! You’ve been hurt so badly—let me heal you. . .”

#    
It had taken all of Kindred's Magica to perform the Healing Hands spell on his wounds, but she had miraculously healed him, and he was able to move on with her through the dungeon, without a pain.

#    
He supposed that if he hadn't been following her, he wouldn't have been put in a situation where he needed her to save his life, but he was grateful to her anyhow. His life wouldn't be nearly as interesting as it was with Kindred. He sometimes felt like his life held more meaning than for other Nords. And other times, he wondered if he would’ve been happier living a simple life without her. He couldn’t imagine it.

#    
The marches across the beautiful countryside getting from place to place gave him a lot of time to think, but more time to see the beauty in Kindred. She wasn't just a legendary Battle Mage; she was caring and thoughtful, and often curious about what it was like to grow up a Nord with a family.

#    
She was reticent to talk much about her own past, which occasionally bothered him. But he had gleaned a little from a few things she had admitted over the months he had followed her: that she had grown up in an orphanage somewhere (Riften?), that she had no idea who her parents were, and finally, that she envied him his mundane Skyrim childhood of playing Leatherball and fishing with the other village boys, of ancient tales told round the hearth fire before bed each night, of having a mother who loved him and tucked him into his cot at night in their warm little cottage.

#    
He had never before appreciated how remarkable it was to have such a safe and boring childhood. It sounded as though Kindred had often only had one or two meals a day, warm clothing had been scarce and love in short supply where she grew up.

#    
How she came to be so warm and generous in such a stunted environment, he had no idea. But he found himself looking forward to her sunny smiles, her bubbling laughter when they were on the road. The better he got to know her, the more he grew to like her, and dare he suggest more?

#    
Each night they cooked whatever game Kindred had caught, (the destruction spells that Onmund preferred often charred any game he killed to a crisp) and greens that he gathered, and sat around the fire eating together, talking about whatever adventure they'd just had, or in companionable silence. He often found himself stealing glimpses at her across the fire, the way the warm light danced off her high cheekbones, sparked in her wide green eyes, and set her red hair alight so lushly.

#    
He remembered how after one terrifying adventure in a Dwarven ruin (Arkngthamz? Mzulft? He couldn’t remember anymore), she had seen that his muscles were sore from stress and overuse. She never seemed to get sore, but she came over to him and said, “Let me help.” She had put her small hands on his shoulders and massaged the tension from them. It felt so good, he’d felt stirrings low in his stomach that he knew he shouldn’t have for her.

#    
And each night, in the cow skin tent under a million twinkling stars, he lay beside her, trying in vain to fall asleep when she was mere inches away from him on her thick furs, breathing softly, her chest rising and falling evenly, peacefully, sometimes all he could do was turn and stare at the outline of her fine features in the darkness, and wonder what it would feel like to kiss those full, pink lips? He could feel the warmth radiating from her. He longed to.... Well, the sound of crickets chirping in the darkness would forever remind him of sleeping next to her and wishing for... More...

#    
"You can't, Onmund," he would chide himself at those times. Surely she didn't think that way about him? When they were on the move, he couldn’t help but notice how her Elven armor clung to every curve so perfectly; the swing of her hair and even her sword-fighting stance enchanted him. She was an elegant warrior, a study in minimalism in a fight. If only he had more time to watch instead of being in fear for both of their lives.

#    
He thought about it now, watching her wipe her simple wooden plate clean with a cloth, across from him in the firelight. He stared at her suddenly and couldn't contain himself. "Kindred, I... I don't know what I would do if..." He trailed off, unsure of what he should say, his face blazing.

#    
She lowered the plate between her knees and looked up at him, a hesitant smile playing across her lips for a moment, until, as always, she understood the gravity of his feelings, and her face grew serious as she focused that beautiful energy on him. "What is it, Onmund? Don't be afraid. You can tell me anything. We're friends, are we not?"

#    
His heart sank. Friends... "Of course we are," he sighed. "Friends I mean." He looked at the embers in the fire, feeling embarrassed at what he'd been about to say.

#    
"What did you want to say?" She prompted, and he scrambled for a response.

#    
"It's just... I don't know what I'd do if... If five Falmer came running at me all at once, and I wasn't holding the right. . . weapons..." He ad-libbed lamely. That was just plain stupid, because she knew he mostly used Destruction spells. She’d tried to give him various bows, but he didn’t like them. He continued, "And I was wondering if you had any suggestions for me."

#    
It must have been his imagination, because it looked like her face fell a little bit, just for a moment. "Oh..." She breathed, sounding almost disappointed, and launched into a short description of battle technique as he mentally cursed his stupid Nord ass for being a coward.

#    
Later, he lay beside her in the tent, listening to the ever-present crickets and the sound of Kindred breathing beside him, her elbow just touching his, which set his heart a-flutter. He couldn't sleep and was still kicking himself for not telling her his true feelings after dinner. Why did he get tongue-tied whenever his feelings for her came up? "Idiot!" He thought. "Stupid, stupid fool!" He had had an opening and missed it.

#    
He sighed heavily and jumped when Kindred whispered, "Are you having trouble sleeping, Onmund?"

#    
His heart pounding, he nodded, and then realized that she probably couldn't see him. "I am," he told her.

#    
"I am too," she said, and then asked, "Does something trouble you?"

#    
He sighed again and felt his face color even in the darkness of the tent. How could he tell her? What if she didn't feel as he did at all? What if she told him it was time for them to part ways? What if he never saw her again? He couldn't live with that. He knew it. He couldn't bear the thought, even if it meant that she never knew that he... What? That he loved her.

#    
"Truly," she said. "You can tell me anything. Anything," she said the last word emphatically and urgently. And she turned to face him.

#    
Maybe it was because she wouldn't be able to see his face when he said it. Or because she had turned towards him and seemed so receptive. He felt his heart swell with fear and excitement as he said in a rush, "I can't stand the thought of losing you, of never waking up beside you again. I... I've wanted to tell you for so long, Kindred...” He stopped, and swallowed hard. “You're. . . more precious than gold to me." He stopped and there was dead silence in the tent for what seemed an aeon, but was probably only a few seconds.

#    
He instantly wished he could take it back, knowing for certain that she must not feel the same way.

#    
But without warning, she surged forward and kissed him, their teeth clicking together for a second with the haste of it, pulling him in to her chest for a long, moment, her hands clutching his robes tightly. His heart exploded with joy and he had to force himself not to grin as they kissed, her lips so soft and warm against his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her (at last!) until she broke the kiss and seemed to stare at him, although they couldn't see each other in the dark.

# "Oh, Onmund--you don't know how long I've wanted to say the very same thing to you! But I was afraid you didn't love me."  
Onmund crushed her against his chest, unable to believe his luck and they kissed again. "Of course I do!" He cried against the smooth skin of her throat. She slipped her hand inside his robes and slid it across his strong chest, sighing with contentedness.

#    
He slipped his hands around her waist, feeling the smoothness of her warm skin and kissed her again and again, knowing that the warmth in his belly was right as he pressed himself against her with a groan of happiness and desire.  
And later, when they lay drowsing in the tent, nestled in each other’s arms, staring up at the stars that now seemed so friendly and welcoming, Onmund thought that he would always think the sound of crickets was the best sound ever.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic. I'm sorry if it maybe isn't like others here--I'm new to the whole genre. (Sorry for the weird formatting also. Not sure how to make it not be all centered!) For some reason, I love Onmund though--he has such a great voice, and I always wonder what he would feel, following a female Dovahkiin, being from hardy Nord stock who wouldn't approve of what he's doing, and if he would fall for her. In this story, at least, he has! I listened to Sea Wolf's album, Leaves in the River Mad World by Michael Andrews while writing this yesterday. I hope you liked it. Cheers!


End file.
